Anything left in my car becomes my property, so following along that line, I totally enjoyed Celia Cruz’s CD La Negra Tiene Tumbao, and an amazing Arturo Sandoval CD that I may rip at work. Fantastic!
There was also a Ludacris CD that I was tempted to pitch out the window, but didn’t want to litter the street. Instead, I did the obvious thing: I played it.
Curiosity? Maybe. Intellectual experimentation? Perhaps. A weird sense of voyeuristic insanity? Yeah, that’s the ticket. The truth is that I enjoy all kinds of music, and while rap and hip hop generally arouse in me a great deal of disgust, there are moments when I find the music palatable, even catchy. As long I can tune out the lyrics.
Here’s the confession: I actually like the sound of Money Maker, although the lyrics offend beyond all measure. Still, here I was, listening to the song.
Let me paint that picture for you: fat, middle-aged white woman in business suit, driving the very sensible vanilla white Ford mini-van, pulls up to a red light with the bass maxed out, bobbing her head to Money Maker. Just then four black young men pull up in the car next to mine. They all look over at me, and I look back, still bobbing my head in that very uncool way that only a fat middle-aged white woman in a business suit could possibly have, and then they register the song.
Please. Someone has to invent some kind of video device that is automatically activated when things like this happen because I will never, ever, forget the looks on their faces. I would win the million dollars in America’s Funniest Videos.
